


A Court of Widows and Espionage

by glassandroses, secondsineternity (glassandroses)



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Marvel Cinematic Universe Fusion, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Elain Archeron as Wanda Maximoff / Scarlet Witch, Feyre Archeron as Billie Batson / Shazam!, Multi, Nesta Archeron as Natasha Romanoff / Black Widow, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23176354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassandroses/pseuds/glassandroses, https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassandroses/pseuds/secondsineternity
Summary: Nesta is not her real name. Velaris is not her home, but she’ll be leaving soon enough. She’ll be going to find her real family, her real home. She’s done hiding, and she’s done running from her past.A rewritten version of the sneak peek at the end of A Court of Frost and Starlight.
Relationships: Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Nesta Archeron/Cassian
Kudos: 14





	A Court of Widows and Espionage

The riverfront house was more of an estate, and so new and clean and beautiful that Nesta realized that she was wearing two-day-old clothes, hadn’t washed her hair, and her shoes were indeed covered in stale wine precisely as she strode through the towering marble archway and into the shining white-and-sand-colored front hall.

A sweeping staircase bisected the enormous space, either side of it shaped like a pair of spread wings, and a chandelier of hand-blown Velaris glass fashioned after a cluster of shooting stars drooped from the carved ceiling to meet it. The faelights in each golden orb cast shimmering reflections on the polished white marble floors, interrupted only by potted plants, wood furniture also made in Velaris, and art-art-art. Plush blue rugs broke up the perfect floors, a long runner leading down the cavernous hallway on either side of the entry, and one flowing straight beneath the stairs—to the sloping lawn and gleaming river beyond.

Trailing Cassian, Nesta headed to the left- toward the formal rooms for business, Feyre had told her, during that first and only tour two months ago.

She’d been half-drunk at the time, and had hated every second of it, every perfect, happy room.

Most males bought their wives and mates jewelry for an outrageous Solstice present.

Rhys had bought Feyre a palace.

No—he’d purchased the war-decimated property, and then given his mate free rein to design the residence of both their dreams.

And somehow, Nesta thought as she silently followed an unnaturally quiet Cassian down the hall toward one of the studies whose doors were already open, Feyre and Rhys had managed to make this place seem cozy, welcoming. A behemoth of a building, but a home, somehow.

Even the formal furniture, while beautiful, seemed designed for comfort and lounging, for long conversations over good food. Every piece of art had been picked by Feyre herself, or painted by her, so many of them portraits and depictions of them- her friends, her new family.

There was not one of her, naturally.

Even their gods-damned father had a picture in here, with him and Elain, smiling and happy, as they’d been before the world went to shit.

But during that tour, Nesta had noted the lack of herself here. Said nothing, of course, but it was a pointed absence.

It was enough to set her teeth on edge as Cassian slipped inside the study and said to whoever was inside, “She’s here.”

Nesta braced herself for whatever waited within, but Feyre merely chuckled and said, “You’re five minutes early. I’m impressed.”

“Seems like a good omen for gambling. We should head to Rita’s,” Cassian drawled just as Nesta stepped into the wood-paneled room.

The study opened into a garden courtyard, the space warm and merry and rich, and Nesta might have admitted that she liked the floor-to-ceiling oak bookshelves, the plush green-velvet furniture

Feyre perched on the couch, clad in a heavy cream sweater and dark leggings.

Rhys, clad in his usual black, leaned against the marble mantel, arms crossed.

And Amren, in her usual gray—cross-legged in the Illyrian armchair by the roaring hearth, those uptilted silver eyes sweeping over Nesta with distaste. So much had changed between her and the small lady, perhaps more than any other relationship.

Nesta didn’t let herself think about that argument at the end-of-summer party on the river barge. Or the silence between her and Amren since then.

Feyre, at least, smiled. “I heard you had quite the night.”

Nesta merely glanced between where Cassian took a seat in the armchair across from Amren, the empty spot on the couch beside Feyre, and where Rhys stood by the hearth.

In far more formal clothes than he usually wore.

The High Lord’s clothes.

Even if the High Lady of the Night Court was in attire fit for lounging on the sunny autumn day around them.

Nesta kept her spine straight, her chin high, hating that they all stared at her as she sat on the couch beside her sister. Hating that Rhys and Amren undoubtedly noted the filthy shoes, scented her old clothes, and probably still smelled that male on her.

“You look horrible,” Amren said.

Nesta wasn’t stupid enough to glare.

So she simply ignored her.

“Though it’s hard to look good,” Amren went on, “when you’re out until the darkest hours of the night, drinking yourself stupid and fucking anything that comes your way.”

Feyre whipped her head to the High Lord’s Second. But Rhysand looked inclined to agree with Amren.

Cassian, at least, kept his mouth shut, and before Feyre could say anything to confirm or deny it, Nesta beat them to it and said, “I wasn’t aware that my physical looks were under your jurisdiction.”

Cassian loosed a breath that sounded like a warning.

Amren’s silver eyes glowed, a small remnant of the terrible power she’d once wielded. “They are when you spend that many of our gold marks on wine and garbage.”

Perhaps she had pushed them too far with last night’s tab. Interesting.

Nesta looked to Feyre, who was wincing on the other end of the couch. “So you made me come to you for a scolding?”

Feyre’s eyes- the eyes they both shared- seemed to soften slightly. “No. It’s not a scolding.” She cut a sharp glance at Rhys, still icily silent against the mantel, and then to Amren, seething in her chair. “Think of this as a… discussion.”

“I don’t see how my life is any of your concern, or up for any sort of discussion,” Nesta bit out, and shot to her feet.

“Sit down,” Rhys snarled.

And the raw command in that voice, the utter dominance and power...

Nesta froze, fighting it, hating that Fae part of her that bowed to such things. Cassian leaned forward in his chair, as if he’d leap between them.

But Nesta held Rhysand’s lethal gaze. Threw every ounce of defiance she could into it, even as his order held her still. Made her knees want to bend, to sit.

Rhys said too quietly, “You are going to sit. You are going to listen.”

She let out a low laugh. “You’re not my High Lord. You don’t give me orders.”

But she knew how powerful he was. Had seen it, felt it. Still trembled to be near him. The most powerful High Lord in history.

Rhys scented that fear. She knew it from the second one side of his mouth curled up in a cruel smile.

“That’s enough,” Feyre said, more to Rhys than her. Then indeed snapped at her mate, “I told you to keep out of it.”

He dragged those star-flecked eyes to Feyre, and it was all Nesta could do to keep from collapsing onto the couch as her knees gave out.

Feyre angled her head at her mate, nostrils flaring. “You can either leave,” she hissed at him, “or you can stay and keep your mouth shut.”

Rhys just crossed his arms. But said nothing.

“You too,” Feyre spat in Amren’s direction.  
The little female harrumphed and nestled back in her chair.

Nesta didn’t bother to look pleasant as Feyre twisted to face her. Her sister swallowed. “We need to make some changes, Nesta,” Feyre said hoarsely. “You do- and we do.”

They were kicking her out. Throwing her into the wild, perhaps to go back to the human lands-

“I’ll take the blame,” Feyre went on, “For things getting this far, and getting this bad. After the war, with everything else that was going on, it… you… I should have been there to help you, but I wasn’t, and I am ready to admit that this is partially my fault.”

“That what is your fault,” Nesta demanded.

“You,” Cassian said from the armchair to her left. “This bullshit behavior.”

Her spine locked up, fire boiled in her veins at the insult, the arrogance—

“I understand how you’re feeling,” Feyre cut in.

“You know nothing about how I’m feeling,” Nesta snapped.

“It’s time for some changes.” Feyre plowed ahead. “Starting now.”

“Keep your self-righteous do-gooder nonsense out of my life.”

“You don’t have a life,” Feyre retorted. “You have quite the opposite. And I’m not going to sit by and watch you destroy yourself for another moment.”

“Oh?”

Rhys tensed at the sneer, but said nothing, as he’d promised.

“I want you out of Velaris,” Feyre breathed, her voice shaking.

Ana Nesta, drunken, ghastly woman, had the complete opposite of the expected reaction. Nesta simply smiled, a small chuckle erupting from her throat. “Okay. And where do you wish for me to go?”

Feyre, albeit confused, only looked to Cassian.

And for once, the Illyrian warrior wasn’t grinning as he said, “You’re coming with me to the Illyrian Mountains.”

Another chuckle. “No, I’m not.”

Feyre abruptly stood. “Nesta-“

“I’m going to Belarus.”

Silence. Eternal, ethereal silence bounded to the room.

Feyre’s mouth hung open, furiously blinking before snapping it shut. “What?”

Nesta raised her head, readying herself for what she was to say. “There’s a new world of Widows.” She announced to a set of confused faces- all but one, which had morphed into an unreadable expression. “All fully conscious but with no choices... just like I was. I have to go back to where it all started so they will never do that to anyone again.”

“Nesta, you can’t-“

“I can.” Nesta said, stress beginning to line her words, “And I’ll start with this.”

Nesta tapped her temple, the photostatic veil glitching once, twice before revealing another face. One with green eyes and thin eyebrows and a set of rosy lips. The complete opposite of Nesta. She peeled off the mask and reached for her hairline, tugging off a wig to reveal smooth, wavy red locks.

Ignoring the shocked and confused looks in the room coming at her, she continued. “You,” She jutted her chin out at Cassian, “Can come with me. If you promise to not make too much noise.” She couldn’t help the smirk.

Feyre moved toward Nesta slowly, as if she were a cornered animal. She gently grabbed her hand. “Natasha, please.”

Barely a whisper. She was still afraid to say their names out loud.

Nesta ignored her plea. “At some point we all have to chose between what the world wants you to be and who you are. And I’m done running from my past, Billie. I’m done hiding.”

The woman that she used to know, her teammate and friend, tugged on her hand one last time. Nesta pulled away harshly, feeling nails scratch over the skin.

“Hydra is infiltrating your city.” She said as Feyre’s face morphed into shock. She pushed a USB drive into Feyre’s hand, making her close her fingers around it. “Here’s all the information I’ve gathered in exchange for my ‘horrible non-life activities’. Sorry for trying to help you.” She almost turned to leave before she said, “Tell Wanda I said goodbye.”

With that, Natasha Romanoff turned on her heel and left her old captain’s house.

**Author's Note:**

> Pulled this out of my crackhead ass and for what 😭


End file.
